A Mexico City Airshow
by zelasswilder
Summary: "An airshow? Have you gone completely MAD?" Sands & El Mariachi watch the Flock's airshow while in Mexico City. Rated for Sands's brief vulgarity. From El's POV.


**Authors Notes:** I know this is a crack-crossover practically. I know most people of the OUATIM fandom probably don't read Maximum Ride but... eh, maybe I'll convert. I got the idea for this while reading the fifth novel **MAX** and they said they were going to Mexico City... I immediatly thought of my two favorite little misfits Sands and El Mariachi. This is more from the OUATIM view point and you'll most likely get more of this if you are a fan of the El Mariachi trilogy as oppose to those reading from the Maximum Ride fan-base. I tried to make it as clean as possible so everything mentioned is explained at some point in this little story. I hope I succeeded- this is my first crossover. Maybe, if this is well recieved, I'll make a sequel. Maybe Sands and Iggy can meet up and have a stare off. HAH I'M SO INSENSITIVE.

**Rated for:** Sands's dirty mouth and El's cursing thought processes.

**Disclaimer:** I own zip. nothin. nada.

* * *

"This is a fucking joke. An airshow? Have you gone completely dog-fuckingly _mad_?" Sands hissed at his mariachi comrade. El turned to him, his dark brown hair falling in his eyes, giving him a slight look of disapproval. By the shift in his jacket, Sands knew he had pricked a nerve.

"No," El responded and let his gaze turn back into the large arena. Mexico City was filled to the rim with excited citizens. It wasn't everyday the CSM sent down their winged mascots to a place like Mexico City. El didn't mind the tacky approach to get people to notice the polluted airs- that wasn't his job. Granted, it wasn't as if these avian-hybrids had no grasp of violence. El just felt that, seeing as how they were only children, they were more fit to do tricks in the sky for the ecosystem as oppose to killing drug-lords.

That had always been the duo's expertise anyway. A few mutants attacking more effective issues would only draw attention to the two of them.

"Oh wow, look at all the pretty formations," Sands was still bitching sarcastically beside him in their nosebleed seats. He didn't care where they sat, Sands hadn't gone for the show. He hadn't gone with a perky voluntary hand either. Just a way to tease at El's senses, making him seem like he had a little more control than the mariachi actually had. El was fine with that as well. He always enjoyed a show.

El shifted in his seat, he did wish that the atmosphere wasn't so clumped together. It seemed like everybody in the country was crammed into the stadium and he knew that was what had his blind comrade so irratable. He didn't blame Sheldon Jeffery Sands for being twitchy. El couldn't seem to stop drumming on his leg as his senses became over-flooded by the noises. Then he looked up- there were the bird kids.

Apparently they had been taken at birth and given bird DNA. El was thankful he wasn't in that boat. He had enough problems as it was with his blind gringo and large reputation. Mutated genes? He hardly considered himself that strong- although, come to think of it, he was quite strong. He had killed those men the day he had been mistaken for Azul without a second thought. Sure, later he had felt horrible about it but now he had adapted. Not to killing. He had always been able to pull the trigger. The aftermath of guilt had decreased incrediously. If it hadn't- he would have been sent to an early grave many years before... What a shame that would have been because these kids put on quite a nice show.

"Would I be considered a hypocrite if I lit a cigarette?" Sands asked, keeping his tone dry and bored as he turned his unseeing black sunglasses to El.

"Afraid so," El smirked and watched the show in contentment. They flew with such grace, he couldn't help but be a bit starstruck. At least these children had better lives now.

"... Is it that impressive?" Sands had to ask.

The latino turned his mocha chocolate eyes back to Sands briefly, "You would like it. It's so..."

"Fucked up?" Sands finished with a scoff, "Yeah. I enjoy the experimented and emotionally abused and tortured. Call it a fetish, El. I like them how I like them."

The sarcasm and bitterness was so evident that El decided not to respond. They all had a certain grace about them. None of the kids looked older than 16 though. They were tall, yes, but El's eyes had never betrayed him before and as he watched from the high-seat at the large TV that had cameras fixed on the avian-hybrids in case you couldn't see the formation (currently, they had slipped out of his range) he saw they all were young. The oldest girl couldn't be more than 15, maybe even 14. She had blondish-brown hair and strong leading features- but she was still a child and that made her vulnerable.

There was a large boy flying alongside her, dark hair and olive skin proved him to be of another ethnicity than the others. Most of them seemed like shuffled cards randomly snatched from a deck. He seemed the wisest of them all- perhaps a leader or maybe just a consultant. El couldn't tell from a close-up on a TV screen. No, he'd have to speak to them to ever truly understand them. He would never get that chance though- he'd be lying to himself if he thought he could. They were important children, (he had to continuously remind himself of this fact. Children.) and couldn't be bothered with a curious mariachi. Besides, Sands would bolt for the direction of the exit when the crowd hinted the show was over. The dark male was tall, almost on the verge of gawky but not quite, and his wings seemed to be the largest. Resembling a hawks wing hue in El's mind but he could be mistaken. Maybe he was getting too old and his eyes were playing tricks on him... He'd know when he aimed off his target and got caught on a ricochet but so far that had yet to happen so he'd trust those eyes. Sands had to trust his eyes as well so maybe he'd tell him if he was getting too rough with his approximations...

Sands grunted in disapproval from his spot and El turned to investigate. Just a clumsy sightseer trying to hurry back to their seat for when the flock of kids landed on the stage in the middle of the arena. Turning back to the main area he saw the two youngest and he frowned, thinking of his lost kin and trying to focus on what El Presidente was saying. It was a risk, to be frank, being in the proximity of El Presidente but he knew he'd be able to slink away in time. He was too high up to be noticed by him anyway.

A loud explosion popped El Mariachi's eardrums and Sands jumped to his feet as the crowd began to scream. "We need to get out of here. We're not the only people on the run," the ex-agent hissed into El's ear as he grabbed his wrist.

Right. Avian-kids probably had quite a lot of enemies to be sure.

Turning back to the arena though, he had to check. Sure enough, they were in the middle of hand-to-hand combat with what looked to be cyborgs. The flock's enemies probably had quite a lot more technology than the gunmen did with their pistols and explosives- which, by all means, are affective in large doses to mortal beings, but it occurred to El that metal beings tracking down bird-kids probably handled a bullet fairly well.

"El," Sands snapped. Right. They had to leave. Of course.

He couldn't bring himself to look away though, it was hard for him to not jump in but to finally _watch_ a battle? Well, he'd never been in that position. He'd always been the target.

Everybody was in a flurry around the two men, rushing for exits to get out of the arena as the cyborgs exploded. El watched the small blond girl of the flock(Angel, the brochure had dubbed her) fight the robots and his face fell. If he pulled out his pistol-

"EL! This may not be our battle but it's still fucking dangerous!" Sands yelled in his ear. Everybody else was so panicked nobody would comprehend the words.

El tried to drag his eyes away and finally... the battle ceased. It had only been a few moments but they had finished all of these machines off.

Holy shit.

The arena was emptied practically, the two men the only ones in their sections as El stared dumbfounded down at the panting flock of children.

Sands jerked on El's wrist, "Right," El nodded and he took off down the stairs to leave the arena when he heard Maximum Ride over the intercom that had spilled to her feet say;  
"**Okay**. No more airshows."


End file.
